Our Little Secret
by Elennar9466
Summary: Snapshots of James' life, entwined with Teddy's. Eventual T/J
1. Chapter 1

_**Chapter 1: Age 0**_

Teddy Lupin was fearless: oh, yes he was. He was fearless and brave, just like he'd told his Godfather: one Harry Potter. Another blood curdling scream pierced the air, and Teddy's turquoise hair turned snow-white to match the rest of his face. He threw a panicked look at his Uncle Ron who sat on his right (and sent a pained grimace in his direction, by way of reassurance), and sidled closer.

Harry had promised that everything was just fine, that Ginny would be absolutely OK, his new godbrother was just going to be making a little bit of a fuss coming into the world. He let out the breath that he'd been subconsciously holding in, colour racing back into his hair as he did: after all, Harry knew every-

"DAMN YOU HARRY POTTER! IF YOU DARE COME NEAR ME EVER AGAIN, I'LL RIP YOUR-"

"Silencio!" Ron hastily jabbed his wand at the doorway, cutting off his little sister's voice. Or at least, the voice he deduced was his sister's by a process of simple elimination: if he didn't know any better, he'd have cheerfully wagered that it was the monster from the Muggle movie Hermione had made him watch yelling in there. What was it called again? Oh yeah, The Escapist.

He turned when he heard the smallest of sniffles from the little boy beside him, who was probably thinking his beloved Godmother was being devoured alive by a werewolf. He leant forward to make a joke on exactly those very lines, and had already opened his mouth before he remembered with a sick lurch in his gut that Teddy's dad had been a werewolf himself.

God, he was terrible with kids. (In his head, Hermione made a _pfft_ of derision, bushy hair flipping indignantly behind her as she left).

Bloody hell. Out of all the Weasley siblings, and their spouses and their spouses's families running around like mad hatters around The Burrow, of course it just had to be him who had been assigned to babysit Teddy.

He loved the kid, he really did. The 5 year old was sweet, funny and thoughtful and absolutely such a delight to watch over; but...well, terrified kids had never really been his forte.

Honestly, what had mum and Ginny been thinking!

"It's tradition to always have the first child of a generation here at home, dear," Molly Weasley had said, "it's been that way ever since there've been Weasleys."

"It'd be so special to welcome the little darling into the world in the very place I grew up, Mum; you know how much this place means to me," a very pregnant Ginny had chimed right in, narrowing her eyes at Harry for a fraction of a second as he'd made to protest.

Women, Ron mentally shrugged, right, barking mad-

"Uncle Ron?" Teddy had apparently gotten over the worst of his terror, because traces of pink had started to ghost over his hair, blossoming from his roots and threading their way towards the tips.

"Yeah?"

"Why is the baby hurting Ginny so much?"

"It's all right, Teddy, really. All babies are like that when they're...ah, when they're coming out. It's not, well, it isn't something you need to worry about. I'm sure you did the same too when you were born."

The toddler blanched at the words. "I hurt mum too?"

With a horrible sinking feeling, Ron watched as Teddy's eyes got huge and moist. "Is t-that w-why she l...left?"

Oh sweet Merlin, Harry and Ginny were going to roast him alive with Fiendfyre after this.

"No no no no no." In a trice, Ron was off his seat and on his knees; level with the little boy. "Don't ever think that, Teddy, your mum never left you, she was taken, she...she would never have gone away from you if she'd had a choice!"

Please don't get me killed, please don't get me killed, please don't get me killed, please-

"OK."

It never ceased to amaze him how quickly 5 year olds in general could go from heartbroken to little miniature balls of sunshine in the space of a few seconds. In any case, Ron wasn't one to question small mercies.

"So how long till the baby gets here?"

This at least, was a question Ron could answer without unleashing more trauma on the kid.

"Well, the midwife and your Grandma Weasley did say that the contractions were coming closer together the last time I spoke to them, and that was over forty five minutes ago, so it can't be more than half an hour now."

Teddy didn't have the slightest idea what a contraction was, and something told him that he really didn't want to find out. At any rate, he gave Ron a sudden grin and nodded.

Half an hour...so that was just half as long as an hour...An hour was as long as he had to spend with Ginny learning his multiplication tables every day, so half as long would be...would be...

(Teddy's face screwed up his face in concentration as he tried to work out how long a half hour was, his hair changing into a warm, sandy brown; what Ginny called his "thinking colour")

Ron, having ascertained that Teddy wasn't going to go doom him to a painful death anytime soon had reoccupied his chair beside the boy, slinging an arm around the diminutive shoulders.

"Excited to be a godbrother then?"

Teddy rubbed the bridge of his nose as he considererd the question. "Well...," he drew the word out, buying time, before continuing, "Harry did say he might not always get to read to me every night like he used to; not for sometime at least.

"But," and Teddy's hair brightened to a garish shade of orange, "Ginny says that she really needs my help with the baby. She said that," his voice dropped a few notches, as if he feared being overheard, and gave a small giggle, "if Harry's left alone with the baby, he might drop it."

* * *

In the end, Teddy Remus Lupin's very own godbrother turned out to be a dash more fussy than Molly or the midwife had anticipated. It was another full two hours before he'd deemed the time ripe to enter the world: Ginny's labour lasting a rather gruelling three hours; three hours, which the wilful, young mother had ensured the equally young father wouldn't forget in a hurry. After all, she reasoned, he'd had half the credit in getting her pregnant in the first place, it was only fitting that he'd get to share the 'festivities'. As it was, she had more than enough 'joy', if one were to use that term rather, erm, loosely; to go around.

Stinging hexes, as it turned out, were quite amenable to being cast even without the luxury of a wand.

Both man and child had dozed off-Teddy with his head squished against Ron's side, mouth hanging open slightly- by the time the door of the makeshift "Delivery Room" (in actuality, it used to be Fred and George's room back when all the Weasley children lived in The Burrow. Back when the phrase, Fred and George had been a daily litany at the household, instead of a bitter-sweet afterthought) had opened, a harried Hermione peeking out from within the room; face breaking into a smile as she spied her husband and quasi-nephew.

"Ron? Teddy?" She called out softly, her smile brightening a shade more as they stirred; first in alarm, and then in barely contained excitement as they saw Hermione's expression.

In the distance, the church of St. Ottery Catchpole tolled, heralding the Witching Hour.

The first thing Teddy saw after being ushered inside by Hermione was Ginny propped up on a huge double bed, a swathe of blankets covering pretty much everything but her face, clutching yet another mass of blankets to her chest.

She looked up as he approached the bed, more than a bit unnerved by the rather ominous silence inside the room: Harry, he noticed then, was huddled on a chair on the left of the bed, holding Ginny's right hand. He looked up as well as his wife did, smiling at the nervous child timidly making his way towards them.

Closer to, Teddy noted with alarm, Ginny looked like she hadn't slept in a few days- dark bags under her eyes, face pale. But her smile was still the same as he clambered onto the bed, the same smile that greeted him at least once every three days, the one she wore as she often tucked him to bed at night.

"Come here, love. Don't you want to meet your godbrother?" Ginny's voice sounded all wrong too, all raspy and rough.

Cautiously, he half crawled and half shimmied his way to the witch and peeked over her arms at the bundle of blue blankets.

A tiny, red face met his sight, and he shrank back an inch or two, revolted. Harry watched in amusement as his godson looked at Ginny, as if for reassurance that the little thing wasn't going to jump up and bite him (Harry gave vent to a borderline hysterical chuckle at the thought, and then winced as Ginny shot him a swift glare), and then took another peek.

Well, the face had the proper amount of eyes and nose and mouth; Teddy conceeded. But it was just so small. Maybe Harry had shrunk him by mistake?

Experimentally, he slipped his pinky finger into one minuscule hand; and gave an excited squeak as the hand closed around his finger.

"What's his name?" he asked to the room in general as both women present made aww-ing sounds.

It was Harry who answered him, "Well, Ginny and I discussed it, and we're going to name him James. James Sirius Potter."

Teddy snorted in disdain. No wonder Ginny had said she would need his help.

"Harry," the five year old said, shooting his godfather an uncannily critical expression, "that's a terrible name!"

"You were named after your Grandpa, too, you know." Harry countered, lips twitching, as his wife and best friends watched the exchange like an exciting Quidditch match.

Clearly, Teddy thought that that particular observation only served to underline his point further.

Grown-ups, he thought, were certainly an odd bunch. Why would anyone want to give a brand new baby an old name?

He looked back at the sleeping infant. "His name is..." he thought for a few seconds more, and then brightened as it came to him, "Jamie!"

Little 'Jamie' woke up just as Teddy said it, and looked up with blue eyes at his mother and godbrother with what may only be described as clinical interest.

"Don't worry, Jamie, I'm here now. I won't let Harry drop you!"


	2. Chapter 2 A

_**Chapter 2: Age 6**_

_**Part I**_

That particular cliché they have about the sun shining and birds chirping? Is absolutely true: every single word of it: after all, clichés always have the last laugh.

Indeed, birds chirped, the sun shone and Teddy was one happy 10 ("Almost 11!") year old: he had Harry all to himself for the day, just like his godfather had promised.

Even better: not only was it just the two of them, Hermione had suggested that they go to Muggle London, with all its teeming, deliciously exotic Muggles with their weird clothes and even weirder mannerisms ("Harry! What're those two gir-ah! Harry! Look! Look!").

Never before had Harry Potter fully appreciated the perils of taking a wizarding child into the midst of Muggles: if he'd ever thought Arthur Weasley would be a disaster amongst the non-magical population, it was nothing compared to the glares, whispers and on occasion, the pitying glances that followed him and his godson as they wound their way through a thoroughly overcrowded Charing Cross Road. He pulled Teddy closer to his person on instinct, the curiously familiar-yet-entirely-novel warmth spreading through him as the boy happily nestled closer.

Almost to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry noted with supreme relief, what else could-

In hindsight, Harry might even have sworn that on some lofty perch, some higher power had cackled and said: "Famous last words."

After all, surely it couldn't be pure coincidence that a gigantic queen would've chosen precisely that very moment to walk out of a boutique and onto the pavement, falling into step directly beside him. Not a coincidence, also, that Teddy had to say to Harry in a stage whisper that the man was sure half the street heard, "Harry, I thought you said that men here aren't supposed to wear dresses!"

_"Take him through Muggle London, Harry; I'm sure Teddy'll love it!"_

The greatest tragedy was: Hermione never quite appreciated just how close Harry had been to sending her a cursed envelope. How very, very close.

* * *

"Passing through, Harry?" Hannah said as her old friend and his godson walked through the doors of The Leaky Cauldron, the pub that she ran with her husband; had been running for the past decade now. The 500 year old establishment, of course, had undergone little more change than the one of its ownership.

Indeed, Hannah had never quite managed to figure out precisely how the place, which was so singularly renowned throughout Wizarding Britain could possibly house quite as many seedy guests as it did. As it was, she noticed out of the corner of her eyes how at least three cloaked figures shifted gingerly at the mention of Harry's name and siddled off into corners and backrooms.

Well, in for a galleon, in for a knut as her mother used to say.

"Mind the register for a bit, will you," she told the pretty, young receptionist who she'd hired six months ago, but hadn't yet managed to remember the name of, and stepped out from behind the Reception Desk and walked forwards to greet the newcomers as the customers around her shifted and turned to get a better look at the Boy Who Lived. People weren't quite as tactlessly curious as they had been during Harry's childhood though, mostly because Harry had made it clear in quite uncertain terms that he did not enjoy having himself or his family oogled at like a bunch of wax figures in a museum.

The hard-earned discretion that came with running a magical pub kept her from commenting on the fact that both Harry and Teddy had scrambled through the doors, were panting and white as a sheet.

Taking a moment to regain his breath, he looked up and gave her a kids-these-days sort of a smile. "Yeah, we're just passing through, Hannah. Teddy here needs his wand and school supplies, he's starting Hogwarts this September."

Hannah grinned at the little shrimp of a boy, half hidden behind Harry's legs, his hair a rather bleached shade of brown. "You're starting Hogwarts already? Wow, I wish Neville were here, he'd love to meet you before term started," she turned her attention back to Harry, "I still can't get over how long it's been since our first year, can you?"

Harry Potter grinned back, trying quite hard to not remember his first trip to the Leaky Cauldron, almost two decades ago. If anything, the intervening years had only managed to highlight the memory further; his hindsight colouring in every (seemingly irrelevant at the time) detail with meaning.

"You know," Hannah continued, blissfully oblivious to Harry's train of thoughts, "Neville's probably on his way back from the Ministry right now. Why don't you wait a bit?"

"Nah, I'm in a bit of a hurry. Tons of paperwork I've left off for the absolute last moment- I need to go attack them as soon as I go back home. Besides, Professor Neville likes making the grand entrance in his first class. Says it ruins the atmosphere if the student knows him beforehand.

"I'll be here on Knockturn Alley business the day after tomorrow though- meet you then?"

"Sure", Hannah called out as the pair left, chuckling as she heard Teddy say:

"Professor Longbottom lives on a pub! Cool!"

* * *

"Jamie! Ginny! Grandma! I got my wand! I got my wand! I got my wand!"

12, Grimmauld Place was a remarkably different place than the morose, claustrophobic dungeon that it used to be. For one thing, the moldering, dark trappings of bygone nobility had been replaced completely with the warmth of domesticity: imposing blacks and regal purples had long since given way to oranges, yellows and browns. Sunlight spilled into every room, lighting up corners and crevices that had stood dark and forgotten for decades.

For another, 12 Grimmauld Place was now a home.

A vividly green and red haired tornado whirled its way around the house, the oak wand clutched in its hands emitting excitable jets of golden sparks.

Harry, who was hanging up his jacket on the coat-rack grinned as he heard said red-and-green tornado thunder up the stairs, two at a time. It was surprising that James hadn't rugby tackled them at the door itself: which, of course, should've clued him in right then to the fact that not all was well inside the house.

That, of course, was made plain to him as soon as he heard Teddy's whoop of "Jamie!" get cut off mid-syllable.

"Teddy? James? Ginny? Everything OK up there?" Harry had already started to take the stairs. Was something wrong? Was Albus sick? Did James get- _oh_.

James was sitting on the floor, back to the closed door of Teddy's room. Teddy himself was staring down at his godbrother half-curious and half-suspicious while Ginny and Andromeda hovered apprehensively in the background, three year old Albus hanging back fearfully behind his mother's robes. The year old Lily, presumably, was tucked away in her crib downstairs.

Both women had a strict no-meddling policy when it came to the kids' affairs, unless things really got out of hand; and as they had decided to stay present, it was obvious things had the potential to get pretty hairy, pretty soon.

Maybe James had broken one of Teddy's toys? His beloved broomstick, perhaps?

Harry caught Ginny's eye and jerked his head towards his godson's room, twisting his wrist in a _what happened_ gesture: but his wife only shook her head, silently asking him to wait.

"Jamie? What'd you do?" Teddy's voice was calm, although he couldn't completely suppress the slight quiver at the last word. He was sure, positively certain, that James had gone and damaged something in his room. All his stuff was in there. His beloved posters, the marble chess set Uncle Ron had given him last Christmas, and (this he realised with a dull horror) his broomstick.

To his benefit, Teddy wasn't too mad at James. Yet.

"Jamie?" He tried again, "Did you break some of my things?"

This time, the six year old in front of him took in a huge, shuddering breath; turned enormous, tearful hazel eyes at Teddy and began to bawl his heart out.

"I-I d-d-didn't me-mean t-to, I swear!"

Of course James would pull the crying card. Teddy hated it when James cried; not in the least because once that happened, the older boy could never manage to stay mad at him for long.

He'd gone down in front of James by now, opening his arms in a half embrace; and was struck back a few inches with an "Oof!" as Jamie launched at him, arms going around him and squeezing fretfully. He could feel the great, wrenching gasps as the boy cried all over him, wracking sobs that seemed to make James' entire body convulse.

"I know you didn't mean to, you midget; but what'd you do anyway?"

At the moment, both boys were oblivious to the three adults and one thoroughly unsettled toddler as they quietly left the scene.

The three grownups and the toddler were all seated in the kitchen, located directly below Teddy's room. This ensured, amongst other things, they'd be able to hear should a row break out.

"To be fair," Ginny said, casting an imperious look up at the ceiling, while her hands tenderly stroked Al's hair as he dozed in her lap, "James really didn't mean to do it. Of course, he shouldn't have gone to Teddy's room without his permission to begin with."

"These things happen, dear. Kids will be kids, you know how-"

"Ginny, exactly what did James do in there?" This, of course, was from Harry. For Ginny to be this outraged, it meant his son had gone and demolished something valuable indeed; something like-

"All his pictures of Remus and Tonks, Harry! All of them! Not to mention other things like her wedding ring and some of her medals!"

Harry dropped his head into his hands with a muffled grunt. Of all the things that James could've broken, all the silly, meaningless, replaceable things, of course he would have to make a beeline for the very things that had no substitutes.

"He was trying to help him pack, he told me." Ginny continued with her rant, "He wanted to put all of Teddy's parent's things into his trunk so he tried to open that chest of drawers where they were kept. They're keyed in specifically to Teddy's touch, so obviously they wouldn't open so James kept tugging and tugging until he got so mad at it that-"

"-that he lost control and burned it all down," Andromeda finished for the mother, "Like I said, these things happen- he's only 5 years old, after all. Besides, I have countless other pictures of Tonks, as do you and Molly and Kingsley."

"Still, Andromeda, these things matter. A lot." Harry had turned to look at the woman he'd come to regard with a lot of affection following the War, "I know I'd be devastated if something ever happened to that photo album that Hagrid gave me for my birthday, even now. What Teddy must be going through..."

At any rate, if Teddy was devastated, he certainly didn't show it later at dinner. He chattered away with Harry about his coming year at Hogwarts, surreptitiously transferred the vegetables to James's plate from his own when Ginny and Andromeda wasn't looking. No, he didn't seem upset at all: his hair even had strands of Weasley red mixed in with the usual turquoise.

In fact, James seemed much more affected- subdued and pale faced, he sat next to Teddy and kept shooting nervous glances at the older boy; as if terrified Teddy would suddenly blow his gasket. He relaxed somewhat when Teddy bumped his shoulder against his once, flashing him a toothy grin. He only managed to give him a watery smile in return.

Nobody noticed the curiously incongruous expressions of relief and horror rippling across Teddy's face as he turned back to his plate, his hair cycling through baby pink and muddy brown before settling back to turquoise.

* * *

Midnight found one Teddy Remus Lupin drifting away to sleep: the amber shafts of light from the street lamp outside the window pierced the inky blackness of the darkness inside his room. Overhead, on the ceiling, the glow-in-the-dark stars Hermione had conjured for him two years ago sparkled in a fairly passable imitation of what he imagined the actual night sky would like. Over all, the boy mused, it wasn't a bad effect at all.

He turned on his side, rubbing his face into the feathery softness of his pillow; the tick tock of the alarm clock beside his bed was almost like a lullaby. _Tick tock tick tock tick tock_... on and on the rhythm went, drumming out the passing seconds. If he closed his eyes, he could even associate each sound with a physical sensation; each tick was a slight sway to the left, and the tock brought him back a smidgeon to the right.

_Tick tock tick tock_...

Now he was swaying too in time with the clock, a slow, languid swaying like he was in a hammock...

_Tick_ to the left, _tock_ to the right...

"Teddy? Wake up, Teddy?" A hand was shaking his shoulder, in a way that was most certainly not languid by any stretch of imagination. Oh, bugger.

Emitting a sound halfway between a grunt and a snarl, he sat up and snagged his wand from the bedside table.

"Lumos." He said, the non verbal _ha_ of triumph hanging in the air around him as the wand tip lit up, casting a rather eerie silvery-blue pool of light around his bed. James who stood right at the very edge of the circle of radiance was seen to gulp audibly at both the presence of the wand, and the fact that his godbrother could most definitely use it: so far as the five year old was concerned, Teddy must have magically become as adept with magic as the grownups were; the pun being very much intended.

"Can I sleep in here tonight?"

Teddy snorted. "Since when d'you ask, you prat? Usually you're jumping all over the bed like it's a bloody trampoline!"

The five year old's round face split into a small grin, but he still looked uncharacteristically unsure, so the older boy gave a dramatic sigh to let Jamie know just how big an honour was being conferred on him, and thrust out a hand to help him clamber onto the rather high bed before putting his wand back, cancelling the charm with a muttered _nox_.

It wasn't long before James was hunched into a ball inside the blankets, snuggling right up close to the metamorphagus: personal space wasn't a concept he'd managed to learn yet.

The 11 year old huffed with annoyance because he was a big boy now, and big boys did not have their baby godbrothers sharing a bed with them. Merlin, if Neil Lungdren ever found out, him and the rest of the blokes would never let him live it down.

"Teddy?" James asked again, face pressed close to the boy in question's side, who jerked and squirmed because he was ridiculously ticklish right there.

The prat.

"What?"

His voice must have come out as fairly testy because he felt James shrink back a little. "Nothing," he mumbled in response.

Teddy felt like he'd just brutally drowned a pack of helpless puppies. And forced their mother to watch.

The nasty, devious, emotionally blackmailing prat.

Another histrionic sigh and Teddy wrapped an arm around the hunched-up Jamie, pulling him a little closer. "No, seriously, what is it?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to burn them up like that, promise. I only wanted to help." This was whispered so softly, the 11 year old had to strain hard to catch it even in the dead silence of the night.

So he still hadn't let that bit go, had he? Teddy would've thought rubbing his knuckles into the little monster's head would've been enough of a _no hard feelings, mate_; but clearly he had been wrong.

Besides, now that he had Jamie beside him, he was suddenly bursting to talk about what had been bothering him all evening. For someone. anyone to know, to understand, to, to-

"Jamie? Can I tell you something? Like, a secret?"

"OK?" Jamie's wide eyed wonder at being entrusted with one of Teddy's secrets had managed to turn his intended statement into a question.

It was a good minute or two before Teddy spoke. "I don't feel anything for them, my mum and dad, I mean."

A pause, then, "I mean, I know they were great at magic and all, and they were great people; but I never...I never felt anything for them. Grandma cries everytime she sees-used to see, anyway- that stuff, and Harry tries not to too; and then they look at me, like, like, they know I'm sad and hurt and tell me how brave I am and how proud they are, but I'm not sad or hurt or even angry.

"I like the way my life is, with Grandma and Harry and Ginny and you and even Al.

"And Lily." He added as a somewhat guilty afterthought.

"I looked and looked at those old photos, and I tried to imagine what my life'd be like with them in it; but I didn't...I didn't feel anything, Jamie. Nothing! I hated those photos after a while because they're supposed to make me sad or something, right?

"Jamie? What's wrong with me?" Teddy was panting like he'd sprinted up the serpentine staircase of Hogwarts' tallest tower.

Suffice to say, Jamie's himself was going through a bit of a crisis himself: that Teddy, _his_ Teddy would need to be comforted was a concept utterly alien to him. Teddy was strong and smart and brave and knew everything, how could he need to be-

"Jamie?"

Shimmying and struggling out of the covers, he moved around until he was curled up-half sitting and half reclining around Teddy's pillow. His mum did that for him when he didn't feel too good, so Jamie figured it had fairly decent odds of working. Running his hands through Teddy's hair (a funky neon blue-black in the gloom), he murmured, "It'll be OK, Teddy. It'll be better when you get up in the morning."

Teddy snorted and chuckled, and James slowed, a little affronted. "No, no, it's fine, yeah? This is good. Thanks, OK?"

Years later, when his memories of this time became cloudy and fragmented bits and pieces of disjointed images and half forgotten conversations, James Sirius Potter would remember this night: the night he'd sat for an hour, stroking Teddy's hair until he'd fallen asleep.

He remembered what Teddy had murmured before being claimed completely by sleep: "Our little secret?"

"Our little secret." James had affirmed.

The first of many.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Part II**_

James Sirius Potter was mighty pleased with himself; even if he said so himself.

Well, to be absolutely clinical, one had to concede that finding his Uncle Fred's old wand up at the Burrow's (now de-ghouled) attic was a stroke of pure, dumb luck. When the 6 year old had been scrounging up there, he'd had only the vaguest idea of finding old WWW products; but this: James turned the wand this way and that, exhiliration spreading from head to toe, this was something in an entirely different league.

He cast a speculative glance through the trapdoor leading to Uncle Ron's room downstairs: both his dad and Uncle Ron were obviously still at work, and weren't due back to the house till dinner, a good six hours away. His mom and Aunt Hermione had gone off to the village to do whatever mysterious things grown up women did. Al, Lily and Grandpa were pottering about in the adjoining shed, while Grandma was busy in the kitchen, as per usual.

Given his propensity for mayhem and destruction, of course, it wouldn't be too long before the two elderly wizards realised he was missing and came up to investigate. As he hadn't sparked off too many hair raising escapades after the memorable (the rest of his family, as can be guessed, had quite a different adjective in mind) incident with the veritaserum on his birthday; he figured it would be a good two hours or so until the official search party started out.

(The augmented _Homonem Revelio-Cave Imicum_ wards had informed Molly Weasley of James' whereabouts the moment he had stepped into the attic- hard earned experience told her, however, that it was best to leave him to his devices until the first unexplained _bang_)

Carefully sticking the wand inside his T shirt, he crept down the ladder back to his Uncle Ron's room below, the better to examine the unexpected treasure he'd managed to unearth. Jumping from the second last rung of the ladder in his excitement, he landed on his feet like a cat. A quick check of the winding staircases outside the door to make sure the coast was clear, and then he ran over to the bed nearest to the window (after the number of Weasley grandchildren had reached alarmingly high numbers, each of the bedrooms apart from the ones used by Arthur and Molly had been outfitted with three beds each. When Hermione had primly pointed out that they didn't need quite as many beds, Molly Weasley had answered with a sly, "Yet" that had made the younger witch blush and beat a hasty retreat. Beatific and entirely too innocent smile in place, the matriarch had gone back to her chores)

The wand he held in his hand was well used, that much he could tell, with greasy finger prints and scratches covering the reddish-brown wood. Holding the wand up to the light, he ran almost reverential fingers over the grain of the wood, tracing over the celtic knots carved at the base. Being quite unconscious of what he was doing, and most certainly unaware of why, he closed his eyes and concentrated. An image was blossoming, right on his mind's eye: a lush, beautiful tree; the broad, serrated leaves glistening in the morning dew; the red catkins glinting in the sunlight. There was a faint echo of sound too, accompanying the image; like a half remembered song, the words long forgotten, but the melody lingering on like an old fragrance. Losing himself into the experience, a rush of other sensations brushed by him: of air rushing past, feathery softness, the liquid warmth of fire on a snowy day; and then...a fragile, unutterably faint perception that was sight and smell and taste all at once, Weasley red and the pungent smell of gunpowder and the cloying sweetness of nosebleed nougats.

Slamming back into the mundane present was quite like having a bus you were standing in accelerate without warning: for our young wizard, it certainly was very jarring to be brought back to reality by his brother's indignant cry of, "GRANDMA! LILY HIT ME!"

James could hear Lily's equally ear splitting roar, followed by more yells by Al, but all concerned parties were too far away for him to make out the specifics. A contemptuous snort that Bellatrix Lestrange would've tipped her hat to, and his attention turned back to the wand.

It was a pretty cool wand, all things considered. At any rate, its owner certainly had been: the very reason why that word was invented in the first place, so far as James Sirius Potter was concerned.

Trouble was, there was something decidedly off about it. He changed his grip about a dozen times, trying to hold it in different ways (careful to not make any sudden movements with it: an instinctive sense told him that flicking or waving a wand was tantamount to using it in some way; holding it, however, was not). But no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get the dratted thing to sit right in his hand. The wood just didn't...feel right to him, didn't feel like it belonged there. The grain of the wood grated uncomfortably against his palm, and there was a curious (almost ominous) buzzing right under the surface; James could feel it reverberating through his fingertips.

All in all, it took even him (intrepid-bordering-on-reckless prankster that he was) a good ten minutes of deliberation before he made up his mind. After all, the boy reasoned, how badly could things go wrong?

Pretending to pull up the imaginary sleeves of his entirely fictional robes- because that's what all the grownups did before casting spells- he took a deep breath, and gave the wand a tentative wave.

A painful electric shock ran through him, making him yelp with surprised pain; and he dropped the wand which clattered to the floor and rolled underneath the bed. Quivering with shock, pain and burning humiliation, he looked at the wetness spreading from his crotch, staining his khaki shorts a deep brown.

It was a rather wobbly smiled and suspiciously moist eyed James that greeted his mother and Aunt two hours later at the door. Ginny took one look at her firstborn, tutted like a mother goose, and gave him a huge hug and a kiss on his forehead.

Al, who had snickered at the exchange, got flobberworms floating in his soup for his trouble.

* * *

"A wha'?"

"A leviathan, Al. Dad told me all about them, see. They look like these black cloaks skulking around at night," Harry's tattered, black cloak was seized off the rack and swathed around himself as James tried to give his brother a feel for the thing, "and they look around a neighbourhood, looking for kids, and they keep to the shadows, right, so no one can see 'em..."

He advanced on his brother, and in the near complete darkness of the closet they were currently in, it wasn't particularly difficult for Albus to fill in all the horrible details. And some.

"And then, when they've found a kid they like," James emphasized the word with a positively ghoulish grin, "they follow him home, and hide in some dark place no one notices-"

"W-what kind of p-places?"

"Oh, you know, like a closet or something," the older boy replied airily, knowing full well what the reaction would be.

True to form, of course, his brother didn't disappoint: gulping audibly, he shrank back until he was pressed up against the closet wall, eyeing the claustrophobic darkness around them for movement.

"You can't see them like that, silly. You gotta listen for 'em, when they breathe." James took in an eerie, rattling breath, and was just about to launch into the fun part of a Leviathan attack, when-

_Bang! Bang!_

Albus made a noise somewhere between a moan and a sob, and launched at James; who, not expecting the sudden tackle, was knocked back into the delapidated coat rack behind them, the hooks digging painfully into his back, and ripping the cloak off. "Ow! You git!" James howled (quitely, because he had no intention being discovered yet), but otherwise made no attempt to dislodge the quivering mass of nerves glued to his side. Slung an arm around it even.

"It's just the door knocker, Al. Shut it, won't you, I want to see who's there."

James felt his brother's face brush against his side as he nodded, and he stopped quaking quite as much; but didn't budge an inch from his current position.

As the closet in question was in the small, informal sitting room right beside the front door, both boys could hear the near silent footfalls as their mother advanced, fumbled with the deadbolt on the door, and the rusty creak as the door opened. A pause, then-

"Neville! This is a surprise! Come in! Come in!"

Please let them use the sitting room, please let them use the sitting room, please let them-

"In here, Neville, this room's much cosier," they heard their mother say, as she and their long time family friend entered the sitting room. Both boys could hear the heavy steps of what could only be Neville's signature dragon hide boots approach, and the groan of the well worn armchair as someone's weight sank into it: both brothers knew the familiar wizard was sitting directly opposite to them.

They could hear Ginny moving about, as she pushed the curtains aside, presumably flooding the room with the brilliant June sun. As it was, a sliver of yellow sunlight crept inside the closet, lighting up a strip of Al's messy black hair.

James painstakingly toed the door open just a little more, because he just hated listening to someone he couldn't see, and was able to spy Ginny sink gracefully into the russet futon diagonally to Neville's left. So far so good.

"So, what brings you here?" Ginny's voice was light enough as she asked the question, and neither of her sons was old enough to divine the undercurrent of tension that snaked around the words. In any case, the witch knew something the boys didn't: Neville wouldn't have come all the way out to their little hamlet a mere week before Hogwarts closed for the summer vacations unless he had a really pressing reason.

James saw Neville shift a little in his seat, saw him fidget with his robes and smoothen out the creases; and he tensed because his mother did too at the action. "Ah, well, I'm here to talk. About Teddy."

Albus' fingers clenched at the hem of James' shirt at that, and James himself all but tumbled out of the closet in his haste to find out what exactly was wrong with his Teddy.

"Teddy? Why? What's wrong?" This time, the tension in Ginny's voice was unmistakable, and it only served to stoke James' more.

"Has he been writing to you lot recently? Did he, uh, mention something?"

His mother, James could see, had leant forwards by now, and he didn't have too much trouble picturing what her face would look like, forehead creased with thought, her eyes intent yet unfocussed at the same time. "Well, he hasn't written any more or less than usual, I suppose. He wrote to me and Harry two weeks ago, and to James about a week back; and there didn't seem to be anything off."

_Ten days ago_, James silently corrected his mother.

"I thought as much, the kid's as annoying as Harry was at that age, what with his I'm-fine-and-I-don't-need-anyone-else issues. Ginny, I'm fairly sure he's being bullied in school."

"Bullied? How?" The witch's voice came out sharp, and James winced, involuntarily shrinking back a little: that tone he was all too familiar with; and it had never boded well for him in the past.

"Well, it started out with the usual jinxes and hexes, nothing too worrying; and I didn't give it much thought. Hogwarts wouldn't be Hogwarts if someone didn't try to jinx you at least twice before breakfast, right?"

Ginny conceded the point with a reluctant nod. Before she'd settled into her roles of mother and godmother so very thoroughly, she would have laughed right along and agreed whole heartedly.

"It wasn't until after Easter that I noticed, really. Teddy seemed to be going to Madam Pomfrey a lot more than usual. With bleeding cuts he said he'd gotten in potions, and bruises from supposedly falling into trick steps."

"You didn't believe him, then?"

Neville gave a small snort at that. "He may have inherited a whole lot of things from Tonks, Ginny; her clumsiness certainly isn't one of them."

James nodded in agreement, although he was only fleetingly familiar with the reference.

"There's really not much I can do though," Neville began, and James, all of six years old that he was, picked up on the same agitated discomfort he felt after playing a particularly cruel prank on Al: like the time he'd slipped a live garden snake under Al's covers at night, and the three year old hadn't been able to sleep properly for a full month afterwards.

James squeezed his eyes shut in sudden guilt and shame; he really wished he hadn't done that now- but Neville had started to speak, and this was more important-

"Not unless he comes to me or some other teacher with a complaint. And-" Neville paused, and limited as James' view was at the moment, he couldn't see the apprehensive glance he shot at Ginny.

He did hear his mother's sharp, "What?" though.

"I think they've been taunting him about Remus and Tonks, about being an orphan."

James started in surprise when Al gave a small gasp. Stiffening- he seemed to have completely forgotten that his little brother was still there- he gave Al's shoulders a hard squeeze that was one part reassurance to three parts warning.

"What makes you say that?" Each syllable was carefully enunciated like it was an incantation, and each seemed to hold as much fire as a dragon's lungs. His mother's eyes, James knew, would be blazing.

There was a curiously ghostly quality to Neville's voice when he answered, "I found him in the Great Hall last week, much past curfew; close to midnight, in fact-"

The fire had temporarily abandoned Ginny Potter's voice, for a horrified quiver had taken its place instead when she said, "The Great Hall?"

"Ginny, he asked me if...if this was where they had died, and please, could I tell him if they'd hadn't suffered too much when-"

Ginny took in a shuddering breath, hand on her throat, as Neville rubbed his face.

James didn't even notice that Al had started shaking again.

* * *

It was raining hard- the kind of wild, torrential rain that felt like someone just let out a frigid ocean up on his head. Teeth chattering, gasping for breath like he was drowning; feet slipping, sliding on the slick mud- and Merlin, his chest burned. If he could just stop for-

A horrible, strangled yelp rent the air; leaving the thud-thud-thud of utter terror in its wake. An absolutely gut wrenching sound of a hard something connecting with a body followed, a terrible crunch, an agonised howl-

And he was running again.

In his haste, his feet flew out from under him; and he sprawled forwards, face down, into the mud. For what seemed to him like one long, desperate eternity; he was scrabbling at the slippery ground, trying to find purchase. He had to go, he had to- another crunch and a pitifully weak whimper came next.

James was sobbing now; he needed to get there, he had to save-

"TEDDY!"

And just like that, both his mum and dad were there, holding him, rubbing his back; which, of course, only made him cry harder.

"Jamie, luv, what's wrong, what is it?"

He hiccoughed a few times, and mumbled into the citrusy warmth of his Dad. "Teddy. They're...h-hurting him. Neville says that he's..." he trailed off at that, dissolving into a fresh wave of tears.

Bit by hiccoughy bit, the thoroughly distressed pair managed to coax out the truth from their oldest, about how he and Al had eavesdropped on the conversation (Discilpinarian Ginny mentally catalouged the information. Apparently, a few Supersensories and Imperturbables were in order around the house).

"Please, Daddy, we have to help him, they'll hurt him and-"

"Ssh, it's all right," Harry said, pulling his son close with one arm, and seeking out his wife with the other, "Jamie, I'll go and talk to his teachers first thing tomorrow morning. I'll tell them to keep a closer eye on-"

"No, Daddy, I want you to help!"

"Jamie, I'm sure that-"

The six year old heaved and wriggled and wrenched his way free of his father's embrace and unleashed the full impact of his enormous, tear filled eyes on the hapless father. "Promise!"

"Promise," Harry replied at once, automatically, and felt the weight of James' trust settle around his shoulders like a heavy cloak.

The next day, James was one busy man (well, boy, really. But don't tell him that: you'd break his heart). Between falling asleep on his parents' bed: only because they had absolutely insisted, of course: and waking up to his favourite breakfast of bacon and eggs in bed, a plan had germinated inside his mind- one that was hairbrained, outrageous and positively sinful in the number of "off-limits" things he would have to do for it.

And the best part? It was all for Teddy.

Naturally, his dancing, brown eyes and altogether bouncy movements made his mother sigh: a sound that somehow contrived to express as much resigned terror as it did relief.

"Mum?"James said, between mouthful of eggs, as he had long since polished off the bacon.

Ginny, who had been levitating the day's laundry into the closet paused mid-wave, the neatly folded pile of linen bobbing a little in mid-air as the spell holding them up faltered a tiny bit. "Yes, dear?"

"Can we go meet Aunt Hermione and Grandma Andi today?"

"Why?" Came Ginny's reply, although it was really just stalling for time: in actuality, the young mother was wondering about what possible pranks could involve Hermione and Andromeda's presence.

That James was plotting was a certainty beyond any plausible doubt: exactly how her sister-in-law and whatever-in-Merlin's-name-Andromeda's-formal-relationship-to-her-was entered into the scheme of things, however, was a significant detail that was utterly eluding her.

Said plotter in question, meanwhile, already had a frighteningly accurate gauge of what his mother's current thoughts were. Had anticipated them, even.

And as any Marauder will tell you, sometimes, the best way to hide your evil plot of doom from mothers and aunts and other such authority figures was to tell them all about it. Sans certain, shall we say, sensitive details, of course.

This, apparently, was one such occasion. "I want to help Teddy, mum. Aunt 'Mione and Grandma Andi can help me plan."

Which wasn't really true in the strictest sense of the word, because James' plan was already fully formed. All he needed the two witches for, of course, was to lend legitimacy to the whole escapade.

"Please, mummy?" He put in for good measure, allowing the tremulous uncertainty to trickle into his voice.

"Oh, you poor _dear_," Ginny all but cooed, falling head first into her son's trap. "Didn't Daddy say that he'll make sure himself that nothing happens to Teddy? And really, it isn't as bad as you think it is- Teddy'll be here in five days, you'll see."

"But, mum, remember when Aiden and his friends were being mean to me last year?"

Ginny's mouth visibly tightened at this: she did remember, actually. All of those nights when James would come home sobbing and trembling with fear, bruised and banged up; too petrified to even tell them who was doing that to him.

"Daddy went to talk to his mum and dad then too, didn't he? But Aiden still tried to hurt me and stuff-"

The red headed witch started: this she certainly had not been aware of.

"-so Teddy went and beat them up real good. Sure showed them, and after that, he always went with me to the playground and let me play with Neil and Michael and Arun. What if the same thing happens to Teddy? What if they still hurt him, mum?"

A hearbeat of uncertainty as James held his breath, then-

"How about we call them over for lunch?"

The witch suddenly found herself with an armful of ecstatic six year old.

"Thank you thank you thank you thank you!" He chanted in a whirwind of excitement before bounding out the door.

Ginny proceeded to matter-of-factly inform her husband via Patronus, that, in the event of coming home to find a smouldering ruin; his family may be found at the Burrow. And that, officially, it was all his fault.

* * *

"Who's the prettiest baby? Yes, you are! Yes, you are!"

Between the multitudes of the Potter-Weasley-Granger-Delacour-Thompson clan, many sordid secrets scurried and skittered behind closed doors and under carpets: that Ginny Potter neé Weasley turned into a cuddle demon in the presence of any baby that hadn't come out of her uterus, was one such truth zealously guarded from the populace at large.

At the moment, the witch in question was tickling and cuddling and cooing at Hermione's one year old son Hugo while Hermione, Andromeda and James (choosing to stay well behind Andromeda's voluminous robes) watched with something disconcertingly similar to perverse fascination.

Tugging at Hermione's skirt a little, James said, "Aunt 'Mione, you know he'll always remember this, don't you?"

"Jamie, he's one," the witch answered, ruffling his hair a little, "I doubt he'll remember his-"

"But Teddy says he still has nightmares about something red trying to eat his face!"

Andromeda Tonks coughed politely and the cooing stopped with startling suddenness.

"He's such a pretty baby!" Ginny ruefully offered by way of an explanation as she handed her sister-in-law's rather dazed looking child back to her.

"Sitting room?" Hermione asked, shifting Hugo's weight a little, Hugo himself hadn't taken too long to recover, for he was now reaching forward to play with his mother's frizzy-as-ever brown hair.

Ginny nodded in response, and as Andromeda and Hermione turned to go in that direction, added, "Make sure you check the closet, will you? Some people around here make it a point to hide there and eavesdrop."

This last bit was accompanied by a pointed glare meant to sear the hair off James' scalp, the boy in question, scurrying along in Andromeda's wake.

Either blissfully oblivious or blessedly immune to his mother's death glares, James said, "Ah, no, I left some old WWW stuff I nicked from Uncle George's house in my room for Al to find. He won't be coming down here today!"

Not for the first time in the past six years (nor, for that matter, even the millionth time), Ginny wondered if she went down on her knees and howled, could Minerva McGonagall possibly be talked into babysitting her brood?

She stole a glance at her son's jaunty trot as his back disappeared through the door to the sitting room and cringed a little in guilt. No no, at McGonagall's age, it would be nothing short of homicide.

Five minutes later, and the easterly sitting room at the Potter residence bore witness to a rather odd spectacle of three adult witches (and one baby)- war veterans at that- arranged in a rough semi circle around a six year old boy. And to their everlasting credit, none of them seemed to show the tiniest inclination to laugh at the determined little boy sitting in front of them.

"I want to make something for Teddy. Something that'll keep him safe." James announced with dead earnestness.

Andromeda looked at him, and smiled in that slow, sad way of hers that turned Teddy's hair a morose brown and made him want to look away- but James forced himself to look this time.

_This is for Teddy_, he added silently.

_This is for Teddy_, Andromeda affirmed, equally silently.

From her spot next to the Black matriarch, it was Hermione who actually spoke first, "Do you mean like a-", she paused, as Hugo fidgeted a little in her arms, "a talisman? Something he can wear that reflects curses away from him?"

James gave a vigorous nod- this was why his Aunt 'Mione was his favourite; she always spoke to him like she did with all the other grownups.

Eager to capitalise on his aunt's policy, he went on in a rush. "Well I was thinking we should take one of Teddy's rings and wrap it in Sphinx hair and..."

He trailed off uncertainly at the utter-crickets-are-chirping-outside silence he was faced with. Even Hugo, a little affronted with the utter lack of attention he was getting, gave an indignant gurgle.

"Wrapping-"

"Sphinx hair-"

"Around Teddy's ring?"

"Buh-bah?"

(Apparently, the matter was important enough for even Hugo to chime in with his two cents)

James' confidence wilted considerably at this show of conviction- if they decided this was too absurd a project, it would be nigh well impossible to pull off what he had in mind...

"Why Sphinx hair?" Andromeda was regarding him with a speculative half-smile on her face.

This, at least, was something he could answer easily enough. "Because they're great guard- guard-"

"Guardians?"

"Yeah, that! Daddy told me, he said that nobody else can guard treasures as well as Sphinxes can, and Teddy is...so I thought that, that, you know." He ended on a rather vague note.

The edges of Andromeda's smile softened and warmed, morphing into a fond, indulgent grin. "You thought that since Teddy is our little treasure, they would protect him best?"

Blushing rosily, James gave a shy nod.

This time, the smiles caught from witch to witch, igniting in a domino like sequence.

"What do you need?" This stamp of approval came from Ginny Weasley herself.

* * *

"There you go, luv, one Sphinx tail hair." Ginny twirled her wand, and a shimmering, tawny strand of hair rose up dreamily from the jar and curled into the moleskin pouch in James' hands. "What else?"

"One unicorn tail hair," James replied, and then, wondering if he was pushing his luck too far, added, "Please."

"Unicorn tail hair?" Both Ginny and Hermione echoed, turning his earlier statement into a question; but Ginny went ahead and added a silvery unicorn tail hair to the pouch with a tiny flick.

Secretly, James breathed a sigh of relief when the two witches didn't press him for any explanation: he wasn't sure even he knew why he wanted the unicorn tail hair. Or if he knew why, it was certainly beyond him to explain his logic behind it.

All he knew was that Sphinxes, as his Dad had told him, could get very violent and bloodthirsty in their defense; and some unfathomable instinct warned him that such a ravening, destructive quality wouldn't bode very well for a talisman; and hours of painstaking contemplation had led him to believe that unicorns would be the best way to water down and temper the quality.

Ginny shut the Potions cabinet with and locked it with a non verbal Colloportus as the unmistakeable pop of apparition sounded from the front yard.

"That must be-" she began to say, but James had already darted out of the kitchen and bounded to the front door.

Hermione merely shrugged in a Kids, what can you do? sort of way as Ginny 'hrmphed'.

"You know, Ginny," she began a second later, as James' excited chatter and Andromeda's more sedate voice floated upto them, "this really is the most extraordinary idea. It's rather amazing, actually."

"What do you mean?" the younger witche's eyes had narrowed a little in interest.

"Well, think about it, harnessing the innate magical imprint of a creature isn't completely unknown to us, is it? We do use that technique to make something rather indispensible for-"

Hermione didn't have to complete her sentence, because Ginny had already caught on, eyes widening in realisation. "-making wands! Maybe that's where he got the idea from?"

"It's quite possible, really. Did you ever tell him about how wands are made?"

"I know I didn't, but I suppose Harry or somebody else in the family could've..."

"But, honestly, Ginny, to be able to hone in on precisely the creature you would need for the situation; I doubt even Ollivander would've been able to; not at James' age, I don't think."

"You think so?" Ginny wasn't even bothering to hide the mother's pride that brightened her cheeks and lit her eyes up.

"I know so. Really, it's a pity really, that he's much too young to use a wand. Then he really would've made an actual talisman."

"And goodness knows what else besides. If he's this inventive without a wand, can you imagine what he'll do to the rest of us once he does get one?"

"Ask Molly, I'm sure she'll have a fairly decent idea; what with the nightmarish brood she had to raise."

"Is karma always such a bitch, or is it just because I'm a redhead?"

As it turned out, James Sirius Potter was far more inventive than what his mother and aunt gave him credit for.

For instance, he had absolutely no intention of just wrapping the golden ring (15th Century, Goblin made) Andromeda had entrusted him with in Sphinx and unicorn hair; and hope for it to actually _work_.

He snorted with only the slightest bit of haughtiness. Even Al wouldn't be stupid enough to think that such a thing would be of any use at all.

Oh no, if that ring was to be made useful; you would need a wand to do it.

Thankfully, he had one horded up inside his trunk.


End file.
